


A Text Worth Remembering

by sherlockian4evr



Series: Getting It Together [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: - with a good dose of porn, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlock Fluff, Just sweet fluffy fluff, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-25
Updated: 2015-09-25
Packaged: 2018-04-23 09:13:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4871302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockian4evr/pseuds/sherlockian4evr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt:</p><p>Texting:</p><p>I'm bored. Come home. -SH<br/>If you're bored, then come *out*. -JW<br/>Fine, yes, I'm gay. Come home and I'll prove it. -SH</p><p>---</p><p>Somehow, this turned out surprisingly fluffy and serious.</p><p>---</p><p>Beta read by <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock1110/pseuds/Sherlock1110">Sherlock1110.</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	A Text Worth Remembering

**Author's Note:**

> Two posts in one day! Maybe this will make up for the cliffhanger in [Manage Me.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4669766)

John's mobile pinged for what felt like the thousandth time. It was a fine sunny day with no hint of a London gloom about it. He had wandered the streets and alleys, finally allowing his feet to take him to Regent's Park and inevitably along the shores of the lake. His phone pinged again. Reluctantly, he decided to see what it was that had Sherlock essentially spamming his mobile. 'Lovely spam, wonderful spam,' sang out inside his skull. He shook his head and read the most recent of Sherlock's texts.

I'm bored. Come home. -SH

"You git," John muttered to the sound of 'Spa-am, Spa-am, Spa-am, Spa-a-a-am!' still rattling in his brain. Hastily he typed out a response and hit send.

If you're bored, then come *out*. -JW

John stared at the screen waiting for Sherlock's response. It was sure to be scathing. Sherlock scorned the bright, sunny days when they occurred almost as vehemently as the vampires of today's horror movies. When no message was forthcoming, he shrugged, pocketed his phone and resumed walking. He had walked almost fifty metres further along the lake's shoreline when his phone finally pinged. He gave a sigh, then pulled his phone from his pocket. He read Sherlock's message, blinked and read it again. 

Fine, yes, I'm gay. Come home and I'll prove it. -SH

There was a suspended moment in time when John honestly couldn't comprehend what he had read. He had to parse the sentences one word at a time to make sense of them. He skipped over the 'fine' and the 'yes', registered the 'I'm' and boggled at the 'gay', not that there was anything wrong with that! Not at all. In fact... No, he was jumping ahead of himself. More parsing was in order. John understood the 'come', the 'home' and the 'and' easily. It was the 'I'll', the 'prove' and the 'it' that provided the challenge. He revisited the words, shoving them closer together until they formed an 'I'llproveit' in his imagination.

"Yes. God, yes," slipped from his lips and John found himself walking, no running, through the park with a broad grin on his face. He ran through the park, down streets and cut through an alley. When he emerged on Baker Street, he slowed to a walk. At the door to 221, he bent and rested with his hands on his knees and breathed heavily, heart pounding. Finally, John stood, tipped his head back and gathered his thoughts. What if he had misinterpreted Sherlock's meaning? He felt suddenly nervous. John decided he would play it straight - he cringed at his internal wording - he would play it calm and let Sherlock take the initiative. Right. Never had the seventeen steps to their flat seemed so long. John took them one at a time. At the top, he took a deep breath, opened the door, and stepped into the unknown. 

Sherlock stood in the centre of the living room with his broken mobile at his feet. He had apparently thrown it to the floor and crushed it under his heel. Pale grey eyes darted up to look at John and Sherlock froze for just a moment. When next he moved, it was to shoot down the hall. His blue dressing gown whipped out behind him, making an audible snap as he went. The low keening sound that he made accompanied him through the kitchen, down the hallway and into his bedroom where it was cut off by the slam of his bedroom door.

"Oi! Sherlock," John called after him. Abruptly, all doubts and fears flowed out of him. Only one thing mattered and that was easing Sherlock's embarrassment and dread. It wouldn't be easy. Sherlock had a way of lashing out when he was uncertain. John strode to Sherlock's bedroom door, braced himself for conflict and knocked.

Sherlock yelled, "Go away!" It was muffled by the pillow that he had buried his face into.

John tried the door knob. It was locked. "Open up. We need to talk." Long seconds passed as he waited. Finally, finally, there was a snick as the lock was disengaged and the door opened. Sherlock looked miserable, face pale and eyes downcast.

"I don't know what I was thinking," came Sherlock's whispered words.

John had been ready for anything: caustic denials, scathing accusations, even a barked order to 'get out' and find another flat. He hadn't been ready for an openly vulnerable Sherlock. Just three steps were all it took to bring John to Sherlock's side. "So, gay then," John said simply and Sherlock gave a little, almost invisible nod. The mood needed to be lightened. Desperately. "How were you planning on proving it, then." John grinned and took Sherlock's hand in his own. "A formal proof, perhaps, or did you plan on implementing a series of experiments? I can think of several, right off, if you are having trouble. You know. Thinking."

Sherlock was having trouble thinking. He was having trouble breathing. Breathing wasn't boring, not when you had forgotten how. John saw his difficulty and grasped him by the biceps. "Breathe," he ordered. "Come on, breathe."

They stood there, breathing together, breathing the same air and wasn't that amazing. It was such a simple thing; atoms of oxygen, carbon dioxide and other gases flowing between their lungs. It was an everyday thing, but it seemed somehow significant. 

"You're not leaving." They were the only words that mattered, a statement of a salient fact.

John smiled and stepped even closer to Sherlock. "Nope. Definitely not leaving. I'm staying, if you'll have me."

"But, you're not..."

"I know how much you delight in pointing out the stupid things that we idiots say, but for once, don't." There was a self-deprecating smile in John's voice and a simple plea. 

For this man, Sherlock would remain silent. He would never mention it again, not if he could have John, really and truly have him.

How much tension can build between two people before it breaks? How much silent longing can there be before before it is shouted out loud?

Apparently, this much and no more.

Sherlock lifted a hand to dash tears from his eyes. "Tell me. I need to know what you want. If it's just sex, I'll live with that. That could never be enough but... but I need to know."

John barked out a laugh, then mentally kicked himself. "If I just wanted the occasional shag, I could get that anywhere, you nutter. What I want is you, in every way. Now and forever."

The fear and dread that had taken hold of Sherlock fell completely away and he was once more the confident, brash individual that took what he wanted. He wanted John and he could have him! 

Sherlock's tall, lithe form enveloped John completely. Their lips pressed together passionately and John damned near swooned. Quick as a flash, they tumbled together on the bed and John let his eyes fall shut. "Fucking hell," John exclaimed. A mere few moments ago, Sherlock had seemed to be on the edge of falling apart. Now, he had skilfully taken control of the situation, leaving John reeling.

Sherlock licked, nipped and sucked his way up John's neck and around his jaw. He fumbled at John's fly, unbuttoning it and pulling the zip down. Nestled within white cotton pants, he found the object of his desire - John's warm, turgid cock.

"Oh, fuck. Fuck, Sherlock. Gah, let me..." Words fled John as Sherlock started to stroke him, slowly. He could feel his hips thrust up towards him. John gritted his teeth. He wouldn't come so soon, shooting off like a teenager and he wouldn't come alone. Absolutely not. Employing more willpower than he thought he possessed, John brought his hands to Sherlock's waist and set to work to free him. It didn't take long. It took forever. At last, Sherlock's cock was released from its confines. It veritably throbbed and pulsed in John's hand.

A wanton, broken whine escaped Sherlock as he bit down hard at the juncture of John's neck and shoulder. He writhed and humped into John's hand, nearly driven mad with desire. "You feel so good, John. Your hand on me. God!" He shivered as John's thumb flicked over the head of his cock. "I need you. I have for so long."

That voice! John had always admired it. Next to his mind, he thought it might be Sherlock's best feature and now it was even more beautiful, thick and full as it was with lust. "How... how long?" John wanted to know. Somehow, it was important. 

"Don't know," Sherlock panted. "Forever?"

"Th... the pool," John breathed. "For me, the pool." Heat was building in his groin. Tingles danced across his body. "Oh, bloody h..." His hand spasmed on Sherlock's cock and his toes actually curled.

Sherlock shook his head frantically over John. His pink lips were trembling and glossy with spit from where he had been exploring John's neck. "Before that. Maybe that first night." Sherlock dove in and laved John's neck again. John went stiff beneath him and there was a sudden warm gush of semen over Sherlock's hand. Whose moan was loudest, they would never be able to say, but the dual sounds of pleasure gave Sherlock the little nudge that he needed to reach his own climax. 

"God, yes, Sherlock. Give it all to me," John urged as he stroked Sherlock through his juddering climax. "Amazing. Fucking beautiful," he breathed because Sherlock absolutely was.

Sherlock rolled off of him and onto his side. He gazed at John through a lazy, post-coital haze. "Is that proof enough?" he asked. 

John broke out in a fit of happy, endorphen-induced giggles. "It's enough to be getting on with, anyway."

"Hmm," Sherlock purred. "You look younger when you laugh." He hadn't meant to say that. "I like it," he added, almost shyly and smiled. It wasn't his usual, bemused smile or his fake one. It wasn't even his three murders and a bomb smile. It was a warm, contented smile.

"You look gorgeous when you smile. You look happy." John reached out and stroked one sharp cheekbone. "If I can keep that look on your face, I'll be a happy man."

"Then stay with me forever. That's all I need."

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to podfic or translate this or create a drawing based on it, go for it. Just please let me know and link back to my fic.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Come out Sherlock!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4871281) by [Sherlock1110](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock1110/pseuds/Sherlock1110)




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